to him, as soon as he was engaged in it: but he was wont to say, that he never found reluctancy in anything he resolved to do, but in his quitting London, and departing from the conversation of those he enjoyed there, which was in some degree preserved and continued by frequent letters, and often visits, which were made by his friends from thence, whilst he continued wedded to the country; and which were so grateful to him, that during their stay with him, he looked upon no book, except their very conversation made an appeal to some book; and truly his whole conversation was one continued convivium philosophicum, or convivium theologium, enlivened and refreshed with all the facetiousness of wit, and good humour, and pleasantness of discourse, which made the gravity of the argument itself (whatever it was,) very delectable. His house where he usually resided (Tew, or Burford, in Oxfordshire,) being within ten or twelve miles of the university, looked like the university itself, by the company that was always found there. There were Dr. Sheldon, Dr. Morley, Dr. Hammond, Dr. Earles, Mr. Chillingworth, and, indeed, all men of eminent parts and faculties in Oxford, besides those who resorted thither from London, who all found their lodgings there as ready as in the colleges, nor did the lord of the house know of their coming, or going, nor who were in his house, till he came to dinner, or supper, where all still met, otherwise there was no troublesome ceremony, or constraint, to forbid men to come to the house, or to

make them weary of staying there; so that many came thither to study in a better air, finding all the books they could desire in his library, and all the persons together, whose company they could wish, and not find in any other society. Here Mr. Chillingworth wrote, and formed, and modelled his excellent book against the learned Jesuit, Mr. Nott, after frequent debates upon the most important particulars; in many of which he suffered himself to be overruled by the judgment of his friends, though in others he still adhered to his own fancy, which was sceptical enough even in the highest points.

"In this happy and delightful conversation and restraint, he remained in the country many years; and until he had made so prodigious a progress in learning, that there were very few classic authors in the Greek or Latin tongue, that he had not read with great exactness; he had read all the Greek and Latin fathers; all the most allowed and authentic ecclesiastical writers; and all the councils, with wonderful care and observation; for in religion, he thought too careful and too curious an inquiry could not be made, amongst those whose purity was not questioned, and whose authority was constantly and confidently urged, by men who were farthest from being of one mind amongst themselves, and for the mutual support of their several opinions, in which they most contradict each other; and in all those controversies, he had so dispassioned a consideration, such a candour in his nature, and so profound a charity in his conscience,

that in those points in which he was in his own judgment most clear, he never thought the worse, or in any degree declined the familiarity of those who were of another mind, which, without question, is an excellent temper for the propagation and advancement of Christianity. With these advantages of industry, he had a memory retentive of all that he had ever read, and an understanding and judgment to apply it seasonably and appositely with the most dexterity and address, and the least pedantry and affectation, that ever man, who knew so much, was possessed with, of what quality soever.

"But all his parts, abilities, and faculties, by art and industry, were not to be valued, or mentioned, in comparison of his most accomplished mind and manners; his gentleness and affability was so transcendent and obliging, that it drew reverence, and some kind of compliance, from the roughest, and most unpolished, and stubborn constitutions, and made them of another temper in debate in his presence, than they were in other places; he was in his nature so severe a lover of justice, and so precise a lover of truth, that he was superior to all possible temptations for the violation of either; indeed, so rigid an exactor of perfection, in all those things which seemed but to border upon either of them, and by the common practice of men were not thought to border upon either, that many who knew him very well, and loved, and admired his virtue, (as all who did know him must love and admire it,) did believe that he was of a tem

per, and composition, fitter to live in Republicâ Platonis than in Face Romuli; but this rigidness was only exercised towards himself; towards his friend's infirmities no man was more indulgent. In his conversation, which was the most cheerful and pleasant that can be imagined, though he was young (for all I have yet spoken of him doth not exceed his age of twenty-five or twenty-six years,) and of great gaiety in his humour, with a flowing delightfulness of language, he had so chaste a tongue and ear, that there was never known a profane or loose word to fall from him, nor, in truth in his company; the integrity and cleanliness of the wit of that time not exercising itself in that license before persons for whom they had any esteem."

To this admirable picture I add, from another part of Clarendon's works, the concluding scene of Lord Falkland's life.

“When there was any overture or hope of peace, he would be more erect and vigorous, and exceedingly solicitous to press anything which he thought might promote it; and sitting among his friends, often, after a deep silence and frequent sighs, would, with a shrill and sad accent, ingeminate the word Peace, Peace; and would passionately profess, that the very agony of the war, and the view of the calamities and desolation the kingdom did, and must endure, took his sleep from him, and would shortly break his heart.' This made some think, or pretend to think, 'that he was so much enamoured of peace, that he

would have been glad the king should have bought it at any price,' which was a most unreasonable calumny. As if a man, that was himself the most punctual and precise in every circumstance that might reflect upon conscience or honour, could have wished the king to have commited a trespass against either. And yet this senseless scandal made some impression upon him, or at least he used it for an excuse of the daringness of his spirit; for at the leaguer before Gloucester, when his friend passionately reprehended him for exposing his person unnecessarily to danger, (for he delighted to visit the trenches and nearest approaches, and to discover what the enemy did,) as being so much beside the duty of his place, that it might be understood rather to be against it, he would say merrily, That his office could not take away the privilege of his age; and that a secretary at war might be present at the greatest secret of danger;' but withal alleged seriously, That it concerned him to be more active in enterprises of hazard than other men, that all might see that his impatiency for peace proceeded not from pusillanimity, or fear to adventure his own person.'

"In the morning before the battle, as always upon action, he was very cheerful, and put himself into the first rank of the Lord Byron's regiment, then advancing upon the enemy, who had lined the hedges on both sides with musqueteers; from whence he was shot with a musquet in the lower part of the belly, and in the instant falling from his horse, his body was